Chapter Nineteen – Scarlett
Chapter Nineteen
Scarlett
The strain was immense.
It pulled at my magic, my insides, my mind. And I knew I couldn’t maintain this much longer.
‘Answer the question,’ I told Anton, my power like a vice.
The muscles in his throat tightened as he fought to swallow, but even as he did, I knew he wasn’t getting enough oxygen. My magic wouldn’t allow it.
‘Every four hours,’ he gritted out. ‘The guard rotates every four hours.’
‘Good.’ I softened my invisible hold. ‘That wasn’t so hard, was it?’
I glanced at Avril. She had been leading this interrogation, finding out the necessary information for me to take Anton’s place and infiltrate the Zigilian palace. She murmured something to the masked woman at her side, who promptly left the tent. Then Avril nodded at me.
I allowed myself a tiny sigh of relief. I couldn’t risk tiring myself out further – not when this entire war hinged on my performance tomorrow.
My gaze locked with Anton’s. Despite the colour in his cheeks, he still resembled a corpse more than a living person – mainly thanks to the gaping wound in his chest and the blood caking his clothes and skin.
He looked at me with so much impotent hatred that even I felt a trace of pity for him. But really, what had I done that was so terrible? He was already dead.
I didn’t even need to reach for the dagger strapped to my side. It was my magic that allowed his heart to beat, and my will that maintained the tether between us. I focused on that tether now, imagining a thread of darkness connecting us together. A thread that I could sever–
Anton lunged for me. He didn’t have a weapon, but he didn’t seem to care, his arms outstretched as though he would crush the air from my lungs. He moved quickly, desperation making him unnaturally fast.
But I was faster.
I shielded my face against the searing sun, squinting across the rolling expanse of desert.
The Zigilian insurgents waited in the middle of no-man’s-land, the warriors wearing spiked helmets. Only Drakos’s face was visible, ruggedly handsome with a strong jaw and dark brown stubble that matched his close-cropped hair. Heavy body armour emphasised his hulking build.
I rode closer, leading my small procession. Flanking me at a respectful distance were Aric and Avril. Behind them were the Red Dune warriors and Malek, whose gaze I could feel boring into the back of my head.
I hadn’t told him my plans; he would have Seen my decision the moment I made it. Though I hoped he had given his warriors some forewarning. Otherwise, they would believe that I was willingly handing them over to Drakos.
‘Brother,’ Drakos called, his wide mouth cracking into a smile. ‘What a momentous day this is!’
Yes , I thought with a twist of my lip. It is .
When I was close enough, I grasped Drakos’s arm with my own. A traditional Zigilian greeting.
Dark eyes swept over my face and body, lingering on the blood staining Anton’s armour. ‘Did they harm you?’
‘I was wounded in combat,’ I replied, in the steady tone I had practised, ‘but their healers treated me in time. Along with Khalid and Arjun,’ I said, referring to the two fighters Aric and Avril appeared to be.
A shadow of emotion passed over Drakos’s rugged face as he looked at me.
‘I truly believed you were dead. And then, when I heard you were alive . . . I was certain the Ravalian bitch would try to ransom y ou. To barter for better terms.’ He barked out a disparaging laugh.
‘Not much of a strategist, is she? Shouldn’t have dismissed all her senior generals. ’
With one last glower at Lillian – who stood at the forefront of my distant army, disguised as me – Drakos urged his horse into a canter. I said nothing as I followed, with a fleeting glance at Malek and the Red Dune warriors, who were surrounded by Drakos’s loyal contingent of fighters.
The possibility of using Anton as leverage had occurred to me, since it was common knowledge that Drakos was close to his brothers. But masquerading as someone he loved suited my purposes far better, and was infinitely more satisfying.
My heart quickened as the gates came into view: solid timber, reinforced with iron. How many months I had spent staring at those gates, praying for a way past them?
I had to force myself not to react as they opened and we rode through. Into the fortified city of Damar.
I raised my hand to the cries of Anton’s name, taking note of the Zigilians who thronged the palm-lined street. The horses’ hooves kicked up dust as we passed between mud-brick buildings and bustling bazaars.
‘Drakos!’ they screamed. And then, less often but just as enthusiastically, ‘Anton! Anton! ’
Their enthusiasm could prove problematic. But I noticed the way the crowd stared at Malek, too – taking in the tattoos on his cheeks. I caught a few murmurs of, ‘Seer,’ said quietly but with reverence.
A promising sign. Once Drakos was dealt with, there was no reason their devotion couldn’t be redirected to Malek.
We dismounted and entered the Zigilian palace.
Unlike the temples and monuments of the Western Lands, my father had left the palace mostly intact – either out of appreciation for the architecture, or pragmatism, considering the cost of rebuilding.
I had only been inside once before. I could remember marvelling at the soaring ceilings, elegant archways and earthy colour palette, staring down at my sandalled feet as I walked over the elaborate terracotta tiles.
Today, I was careful not to look around me. If Anton was anything like Drakos, he was so familiar with his surroundings that he wouldn’t give them a second glance.
I wondered what had happened to the Provincial Governor who used to live here.
I had a vague memory of meeting him – along with his son and daughter, a few years younger than I was at the time.
My father had spoken with the governor in one of the many courtyard gardens, while I had played amongst the greenery with the other children.
I doubted they were still alive. Coups didn’t discriminate between the young and old, any more than war did.
Drakos brought us into the generous banquet hall, where his two other brothers were already waiting, along with a few white-robed Zigilian advisers. He greeted them all informally, kissing their cheeks. Victory had made him jovial.
‘Come, Anton,’ he called to me. ‘Join us in our celebrations.’ I walked over to him as his eyes cut to the warriors – Zigilian and Red Dune alike. ‘Leave us,’ he instructed.
This wasn’t a surprise, but I still tensed as Aric left the hall. I could maintain my illusion only so long as he was reasonably close – as I had warned him. He would have to rely on his ingenuity for the next part of our plan.
As for Avril . . . well, everything depended on her remaining close.
‘Wait,’ Drakos called, his voice echoing through the pillared expanse. My throat went dry, thinking that he had noticed me shift the illusion on Avril, transforming her into a palace servant. ‘You – the seer. You can stay.’
I resisted the urge to glance at Malek. I had expected him to be contained along with the other tribespeople, and I wasn’t sure how to take this change in plan.
But Drakos was smiling broadly as he claimed the seat at the head of the table. ‘I hope there are no hard feelings, friend,’ he said lightly to Malek. ‘Returning you to Ravalia was a condition Zandri refused to budge on. The least I can do is give you a proper send-off.’
Servants lined the sandstone walls. The moment I took the empty seat at Drakos’s right – a position of honour – they began serving food and wine. I deliberately avoided looking at Avril as she moved along the table.
‘I understand completely.’ Malek was seated further down, next to Drakos’s advisers, but his voice carried easily enough.
‘Glad you’ve seen it my way,’ Drakos remarked, idly swirling his glass. ‘No reason we should be enemies – we are both Zigilian, after all.’
And what of the warriors from the Red Dunes? What are you going to do with them ?
I casually took a bite of the salad in front of me.
I already knew the answer, of course – as did Malek.
I wondered whether that was the reason he ignored the food in front of him.
I didn’t have much of an appetite either, but Anton would have devoured the rich date wine and vibrant tropical fruits.
Conversation flowed as easily as the wine Avril poured.
Everything had already been through multiple tasters; it didn’t even occur to Drakos to be cautious.
I watched him laugh with his brothers, only participating when it was required of me.
No one seemed to notice my distance; perhaps Anton had always been a little aloof.
When it was time for the next course, the servants left. Avril disappeared along with them.
The poison took effect quickly.
With cool detachment, I watched Drakos’s brothers and advisers stiffen. Their hands rose to their throats as they coughed – great, hacking coughs that sprayed blood and spittle onto the white tablecloth.
And then the tablecloth was dragged to the ground as one of the advisers fell, twitching, to the floor. Drakos started forward, only to pause, torn between his two dying brothers. He called for help, but there was no one to hear him. No one to answer his pleas.
‘Anton!’ he shouted, kneeling over one brother. ‘Anton, run – find a healer–’
I went to Drakos’s side, holding a finger to his brother’s throat. There was no pulse.
Drakos looked up at me. I didn’t know what he saw in my expression, but it was enough for horrified realisation to contort his face.
I released the illusion. I had no need for it anymore.
‘ You .’ The word sounded strangled.
‘Me,’ I agreed, slowly standing and surveying the destruction. Wine cups had spilled, and broken plates and food littered the floor around the bodies. Malek was the only person still seated, his shoulders stiff, his expression stoic.
I refocused on Drakos, unrolling the piece of parchment I had brought with me. I even extended a quill.
‘The poison I chose for you is slower acting,’ I said, crouching at his side, ‘but it’s no less lethal. However, there is an antidote.’ I rotated a glass vial in my fingers. ‘I’m willing to give it to you. All you have to do is sign this document, transferring your power to Malek.’
Drakos was silent for a long time, his face and being anguished. He glanced down at the body of his brother.
‘You need to decide quickly,’ I told him. ‘If you wait too long, the antidote won’t help.’
‘Fine.’ Drakos snatched the quill and signed his name. ‘The seer can be your new puppet leader.’
I glanced at Malek. He had to know what was coming, but if he felt any surprise or horror, it didn’t show. His gaze was steady and measuring, like Severin’s would have been.
I looked away.
‘There isn’t an antidote, is there?’ Drakos asked, his muscles spasming. The final stage of the poison.
‘There is,’ I said, watching his body contort. ‘I just don’t have it.’
Perhaps it was for the best that Severin wasn’t alive to see this, I thought as Drakos bent in a painful arch – and then went still. His brown eyes stared up at me, glassy and unseeing.
I closed them and stood, heedless of the blood smearing my fingertips.
Severin had always dreamt of peace, and it was a beautiful dream. But this world didn’t belong to the dreamers.
It belongs to the monsters.